


Eerie Nights of Eos

by JazzRaft



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Halloween, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 10:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16490651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: Short, scenery snippets admiring the various locales of Eos throughout Halloween. A celebration of spooky aesthetics, featuring everyone's favorite prince and the fools in love with him.Part 1: Ignis/Noctis | Part 2: Nyx/Noctis | Part 3: Ravus/Noctis





	1. Insomnia Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still Halloween in my heart! And these are some spooky snippets of scenerygasm challenged by Aithilin to celebrate my favorite season~

“Gladio, come help carve!”

“I’ve helped enough! You’re on your own.”

Gladio fell into the couch like a chopped down tree, thumping down so hard on the cushions that Ignis braced himself for the whole thing to cave underneath him. Fortunately, the Prince’s apartments were furnished to be bulletproof, sword-proof, and even Shield-proof. Their comfy couch would live to see another Hallowtide. With any luck, so would Gladiolus.

Ignis handed him a glass full of purple punch, bobbing with ice-cubes shaped like skulls. “For your trouble.”

“I’m putting you on a bulkier work-out regime,” Gladio stated, knocking back the spiked drink with a haste Ignis would have advised against for someone with a weaker constitution. “That way, you’ll be ready to help carry them up next year.”

“To think, the Prince’s fearsome Shield, sworn to defend the Crown from dangers foreign and domestic, was defeated by a couple of squashes.”

Gladio wordlessly presented his glass for a refill, glaring at Ignis as he obliged. He promised to give one of the pumpkins a good mangling to avenge his friend’s aching muscles.

The kitchen was decked out like a pair of mad scientists’ laboratory, Ignis sacrificing his pristine sanctuary of culinary experimentation for one night and one night only. Brightly colored, plastic pumpkin-carving tools lay scattered across the table, shining bluntly under the lights like a surgeon’s tray in an operating room. He almost pitied the poor pumpkins.

Hallowtide was Noct’s holiday, and since moving into this apartment, a space beholden to no rules but his own, he made sure anyone with license to visit damn well knew it. The suite was decorated in the garish neon colors popularized for the holiday: purples and slime greens and orange and black, of course. Glow-in-the-dark skeletons posed against the walls, waving out the windows, welcoming guests by the elevator and front door. Bowls fashioned in the shapes of black cat faces, glasses held by chiseled skeletons hands, silhouettes of bats and witches and scary faces pressed to the windows, leering out at the misty, yellow autumn of Insomnia below.

Strings of molded lights were hung from every countertop, blinking pumpkins and glowing ghosts pulsing in time with Noct’s favorite party mix, crowing from speakers hidden amongst the ghoulish décor. Noctis had even dressed to match the occasion, wearing an over-sized black sweater printed with a pattern of dark orange pumpkins and sharing some of his novelty accessories with Prompto – a headband of pumpkins on the end of springy antennae, flashing like strobe-lights every time he bobbed his head.

“How ‘bout you, Specs?” Noctis asked, sleeves of his sweater rolled to the elbows as he prepared to dive into his victim. “Feel like getting your hands dirty?”

“Perhaps,” he said, watching Prompto’s face scrunch up in playful disgust as he dragged the stringy guts and seeds of his pumpkin onto the tray Ignis had set out for them.

The two of them were tasked with roasting the seeds for snacking later – Prompto couldn’t be trusted with sharp objects. So, Ignis entertained him with the simple seasonings for pumpkin seeds while Noctis dug a pattern into his pumpkin.

They had pumpkins of every color, little white ones for painting moogle faces – Prompto was reserved for one of those later – spray-painted black ones for Noctis to carve the symbol of his favorite video game into with a spookier effect. Of course, Noctis preferred the classic orange pumpkin the best, attentively working his design into the tough flesh while bobbing his head to the creepy beats of the music. In the living room, Ignis could hear Gladio’s soft snores, tuckered out beneath cheap bat wings and orange streamers.

“Pleased with the result?” Ignis asked later, warm, roasted pumpkin seeds set out in bowls, the apartment filled with the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg.

“You tell me.”

Noctis turned the finished product towards Ignis, a detailed silhouette of his beloved spirit totem from when he was a child. The little grooves of fox fur and tufted ears were given special attention to detail, and little hums of Noct’s magic gave the pumpkin a bluish glow from the inside out, a flicker of crystal light igniting the offering.

“I think Carbuncle will be very pleased,” Ignis said.

“Yeah, but are you?”

The little dream god protected their dreams on principle, complementary guardianship by proximity to the favored prince. Gladio never did believe in it, stating he couldn’t remember his dreams anyway, so he wouldn't know if there was a fluffy fox bounding through his head or not.

But Ignis believed. He remembered fantastical, culinary visions of the city on the sea; Altissia, always a distant dream. And if such dreams included dates with Noct.... well, he didn’t remember those where anyone else could hear.

“Of course,” Ignis answered, chest warming at the rise of Noct’s smile. “It’s perfect.”


	2. Ghoulish Galahd

“ _Wow._ ”

“And you thought I was exaggerating.”

“I did. I really, _really_ did.”

It was magical. It was like walking through the wicked delights of his childhood fantasies. Every corner of the valley was made haunted, the tall, twisted black hats of locals dressed like witches and wizards milling to and fro from each attraction. Like a field of kooky black grass, gowned and suited and body painted ghouls lurched throughout Galahd, guided by the orange lights of carved pumpkins and painted lanterns and tall torches igniting the autumn valley in an eerie orange glow.

Galahdians were big into fire. It was a pivotal feature in many of their myths and legends, and it was honored at this festival by being the only source of light. Trails of candles in mason jars, bowls of fire on wrought-iron hooks, bonfires guarded by towering scarecrows, the grills and woodstoves aflame to cook up festive treats. Noctis felt magic warming the air, and for once, he didn’t know where it was coming from. He wasn’t in on the secret, didn’t feel it zipping through his blood, and it made him feel all the more entranced by the festivities.

“Where to first?” Nyx asked, arm hooked through his as he nodded at the zombie mages passing them on the street, the magical matriarchs slowing just a step to admire the assassin rags Noctis had coerced Nyx into dressing up in.

“You tell me,” Noctis laughed, eyes drawn to every little detail from beneath his white hood. “I don’t know where to start.”

There were psychomancers strung up in the trees, tattered tentacles of burlap and canvas hissing through the half-bare branches, eyes blinking red to warn children from getting too close. Wooden, hooded tonberries holding artfully scratched-up signposts directed visitors to different attractions – whack-a-daemon over there, haunted maze here, spooky chocobo rides, candy vendor, creepy café; there were so many things to see.

Of course, he had to see the chocobos. He had to see the painted black feathers and the white patterns drawn on them to look like skeleton birds. He had to see the felt bat wings and bouncing pom-poms strapped to the white ones to look like moogles. The purple died feathers and papier- mâché horns marching around the field like behemoths. With their small, giggling riders of superheroes, knights, malboros, and cactuars, the playful “kwehs” of their steeds trumpeting safety in the haunted valley.

“Prompto’s going to be so jealous,” Noctis muttered, smile teasing the edges of his lips as he snuck a picture of the carousel of dressed up chocobos and their riders.

“It’ll be here next year,” Nyx promised. “You’re the test dummy.”

“Thanks,” Noctis drawled, bumping his fist into his arm.

If this was a test, Galahd had definitely passed. It went above and beyond his expectations, and they were fairly high to begin with. The central attraction for the night was the maze, a carefully plotted out, foggy labyrinth through the woods at the end of the valley. They were purported to be haunted, even without the décor, which Noctis guessed was why so few kids were lining up to dare each other into the maze. Candy was promised by the undead attendant at the entrance to whoever “made it out alive.”

“Keep me save, hero?” Noctis asked as he and Nyx challenged the ghosts of the maze.

“You know it, little king.”

If there were ghosts in the woods, they were merely spectators to the show lighting up the valley. They hung back between the trees under the cover of the fog to admire the laughter of the children, the lights of the fires, the romantic meanderings of two video game assassins stepping around mounds of pumpkins marking the way. While they didn’t win the prize – that would go to a brave Lord Vexxos, in the name of galactic conquest – they came out of the maze victorious, nevertheless.

Nyx’s kisses in the concealment of the fog were just as sweet as candy.


	3. Phantoms of Fenestala

“Be assured, this is _not_ the best that Tenebrae has to offer.”

Noctis had no idea what he was talking about. This seemed pretty damn cool to him.

Creepy, definitely creepy, but the cool kind of creepy. The kind of creepy he might deck out the Citadel with if he was King and could do whatever the hell he wanted.

Masquerades were a Niflheim thing, Ravus had told him – though with a great deal more pretentious and resentful jargon (Noctis thought he was just trying to intimidate him – or maybe, if he felt like flattering himself, even impress him – by sounding smart). While the animosity between the warring nations was finally lessening, enough for representatives of each nation to freely invite their opponents within their borders without fear for their lives, the Empire’s influence still weighed heavy in Tenebrae traditions.

While he was hesitant to admire anything Niflheim – at least, not out loud – Noctis was rather enjoying the ghostly ballroom of Fenestala Manor. The tinkling charms of glass chandeliers were bound and dimmed under artfully applied webbing, tendrils of faux white wisps tangling around silver sconces in the walls, climbing the delicate frames of the windows peering out at the eerie garden lights. Noctis couldn’t see a single lightbulb surrounding the illumination, small bulbs of magic light frosting the ballroom from their lanterns.

Pale, tattered tablecloths and shredded accents of cheesecloth creeped along each table, run through with gauzy black silk and delicate, spider-web knits. Even the food was made the match the monochromatic color scheme, apples and pears dipped in glossy black sauces, little white cakes, delicately frosted in black webbing, crudité of purple carrots and scrubbed white mushrooms, cheese platters oozing with soft ivory spheres drizzled in dark balsamic on platters of stained black crackers.

The guests were all in white and black, faces powdered white as ghosts and eyes ringed in black kohl, black lips; extravagant facades of the elegant undead. Fake crows perched on shoulders, skirts billowed with raven feathers, creamy chiffons patterned in skeletal limbs and detailed coats beaded the designs of arachnids.

It was a chilling congregation of the Niflheim elite, and while Noctis admired the ghoulish beauty of it all, he felt out of place himself, in his black Lucian suit, the high collar of his raiment serving as much as a shield as part of his vampire’s costume.

“Next year will be a more authentic testament to Tenebrae’s tradition,” Ravus was griping beside him, a stark white contrast in wardrobe beside him, the high ram’s horns of his mask streaked with rebellious bits of blue.

Noctis bit a smile back behind his collar, curbing his hope that by this time next year, the ceasefire would be solid enough for Tenebrae to reinstate its independence. It was hard not to be optimistic, with things going the way they were, with his even being allowed to leave the safety of Insomnia, let alone by personal invitation form the Fleuret family.

“Can I look forward to it, then?” he dared to ask, glancing at Ravus from between the carved holes of his mask. “Or was this a onetime only invitation?”

Ravus rolled his eyes over at him, the withering look of an impatient man attempting to explain something to an ignoramus. (He must have been trying to impress him after all.)

“That all depends on your behavior this evening. Prove that you deserve to come back.”

“Then I’ll be on my best. Starting with asking the host for a dance?”

Noctis turned to face him, squaring his shoulders and presenting his arm in the stiff formality of courtly decorum that had been drilled into him for an eternity with barely any use. There were few royal confidantes in Lucis whose respect he needed to earn with the more finite gestures, but with Ravus, every little detail mattered.

His counterpart prince squinted at him from beneath the shade of his mask, skating a glance from head to toe in search of some imperfection he could scoff at and deny in his form. Noctis could barely control his pride from breaking out across his face and ruining the whole thing when Ravus could find none. He looped his arm through his.

“So Lucis has taught you some class after all,” Ravus muttered.

It was the closest thing to a compliment he was ever going to get. He’d take it.


End file.
